She began to sing.
She imagined the melody reaching towards Jack like invisible ribbons, encircling him until they wound cocoon like around both of them. She reeled backwards, taking a valuable step back towards the edge of the cliff, as his depraved mind connected to hers. The shock was enough to stop her melody.
“Quickly. Keep going, Estelle,” Gregory urged.
She kept singing, urging her voice into Jack Cutlass’s mind. Her conscious followed as she dug into the murky depths. Her limbs were instantly chilled as she dove deeper. She sensed the evil, knew it lurked in very corner of his mind, knew that there was no good left in him. There was no compassion. She sensed his brutality, his greed, sensed how many men he had killed and realized that it was his only form of pleasure. He drew satisfaction from watching life fade from the body he stole from it, and knew that watching her die would be one of his greatest pleasures.
She pressed her song further into his mind, filling it with the urge to sleep until it was an undeniable force. He resisted. She steeled herself and pushed harder, until her entire consciousness was in Jack’s mind. She needed to hit him with the full force of her ability to survive.
She sunk further, flitting through memories, feeling his darkness permeating her. She had to resist the temptation to withdraw. He sensed her in his mind already and was fending her off. She moved quickly, winding her melody through his mind, dousing his attention with the need for sleep. She dodged and wove through horrible thoughts, going deeper and deeper into the center of his mind, into the core that was Jack Cutlass. She shivered with the cold, now frozen through her bones.
There was something wrong inside his mind. Apart from the darkest memories and hideous emotions she detected, there was an unnatural force that bound his mind with it. She sensed the force probing her, curiously at first, seeing who she was and what she was doing in Jack’s mind.
It slowed her progress. She pressed harder, probing until she stopped as if she had come up against a stone wall. She sensed a connection, sensed that there was a bargain made between Jack and this force and knew that it was beginning to take over his mind and control his actions, knew that however dark and vile Jack Cutlass was, this entity that was now a part of Jack’s mind was a thousand times worse and a thousand times strong.
With that realization, it instantly began sucking her deeper into Jack’s mind. She pulled back and it locked harder onto her. She felt herself loosing track, slipping downwards. She stopped singing, stopped trying to bring Jack down and forced herself to retreat from its pull.
She screamed into Jack’s mind, felt her lips move as if as unmalleable as stone, felt the breath slip from between her lips and hoped that he heard. “Gregory!” she screamed with all her concentration, hoping that it would come as a bare whisper.
Warm arms were around her and she embraced the heat of them. Silken ribbons of strength and light surrounded her and she followed them, speeding along them with the speed of thought, knowing the entity was snapping at her heels. She broke through the light and gasped in a lungful of fragrant, fresh air. She cracked open her eyes and instantly looked into midnight depths.
“Estelle, are you back?” Gregory’s voice acted like a tonic, allowing her to surface back into her mind.
She nodded, looking around for Jack. Amazingly he still stood, albeit a little crumpled. He was stooped, his sword had dropped to the ground and he sagged on bent knees, but against all her strength using her gift to its full capacity, he was not unconscious. His men stood around him as silent sentinels, still and unmoving as though they waited for direction only from him. Jack’s head snapped up and he regained his posture.
“Nice try, m’dear.” Jack’s eyes cleared and he blinked back the evil into their dull depths. In them, Estelle saw more than just Jack Cutlass. The nameless entity was a dull cloud behind Jack’s grey veneer. Both pinned her with an icy stare. “Now hand me that map.”
“You’ll have to take it from my dead body,” she said.
Jack answered with a weak smile. “It will be my pleasure.”
She looked at Gregory. “Until the end.”
“Then let’s make it not ours.”
The figures silently stepped toward them, moving in unison to corner them in a tight circle. All her senses were heightened. Her heart pounded making blood scream through her veins. Her breath hot in her throat. Fear ran a gauntlet from her gut to her mind, making her tingle with their menacing threat. She let her spiraling sensations wash through her body, knowing it would serve her well with this battle. Knowing Gregory could match her skill for skill, Estelle didn’t wait to be trapped by these unearthly beings, instead charging forward and slashing wildly, left to right and left again, turning to the next figure, slashing across their chests, stabbing with her dirk, spinning, lunging, stabbing.
Still they bore down at her, pushing her backwards step by step. She sensed Gregory battling the same as her, lunging with both hands, chopping down freezing flesh to save their own lives, but he also, was retreating, weighted back by sheer force of numbers.
There were no battle cries, no noise save their own gasps. Her arms ached, shoulders strained, legs weakening. She slashed at a chest and blood spurted from the wound, splashing her torso. There was no cry, no scream of agony. The figure staggered for a moment, recovered and approached. She slashed the sword from his hand. It fell with a dull thud onto the ground. Desperate now, she lunged forward, skewering his stomach with the blade of her sword.
The weight of his body dragged her sideways. He leant forward, hands coming around her throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh. She gasped with pain and surprise. There was no way a man could survive a wound she had just inflicted, and still manage an attack.
She retreated. Her heel slipped downwards with nothing to support it. She glanced sideways. To her horror she was balancing on the edge of the cliff, with nothing behind her but a sharp drop that would surely end her life. Estelle swung her left hand and hooked her dirk between his ribs. She changed the direction of the blade, slicing upwards, effectively hooking the blade behind his ribs. She swiveled to the side and bent at the knees, turning the torso of the man with her sword and dirk. The quick motion unbalanced her attacker. His fingers slipped from her throat and she pushed him away, dropping to her knees. He slipped at the edge of the cliff and toppled without a sound.
There was no time to gather her breath. She staggered to her feet, ready to face her next attacker. And stopped short.
Horror collided through her as the breath smacked from her lungs in a single instant. Her mind refused to understand what her eyes saw, refused to take in the information that couldn’t possibly be true. Her world spun, gathering momentum as realization shrank her conscious between her and the man who stood before her.
“Father.” She said the word on a breath, so softly that the gentle breeze plucked it from her lips, dissolving it into the air around her. She dared it not to be true, dared it not to be him, but he was as solid, as real as the other figures.
He was a cadaver. His dull eyes stared unfocused at her. His yellowed skin hung loosely from his stony face. There was no flash of recognition, no pain, no joy at finding her, just … nothing.
Estelle took a small tentative step towards him. The temptation to run into his arms, like she had when she was a little girl was overpowering. Her sword tip lowered to the ground. “Father, don’t you know who I am?”
Gregory stood protectively at her side, slashing away at bodies that came for them both. She couldn’t move, couldn’t fight, needed to talk to her father, needed to feel his arms around her. She lifted her arms, moved closer.
“Estelle, I don’t think that is wise,” Gregory said through clenched teeth.
She hardly heard Gregory’s warning, took no head from it. Stepped closer. “I thought you were dead,” she said.
“A good guess, my dear,” a charming voice drawled.
“Too scared to do your own fighting, Cutlass,” Gregory said.
Jack stood at the back of his men, a leering smile etched onto his handsome face. “I have more important things to attend to. Now, you’ve taken too much of my time already. It is time to say adieu.”
“That’s much too poetic coming from a man like you,” Gregory said.
“It matters little what you think.” Jack replied. He stretched his hands outwards. Estelle saw the sun glint from a huge golden ring on his finger before he uttered more unintelligible words.
The figures resumed their attack. Her father raised his sword, slashing straight at her heart. Something large and solid charged into her. No breath left in her lungs. She staggered backwards and she was falling.
Rock all around. The edge of the cliff far above her. Crashing into unyielding rock. Pain jarring through her arm. Spinning indistinguishable shapes. Rocks clattering. More pain. Crashed onto something hard and solid. Red lightening seared her mind. Everything black.
Chapter Fourteen
Jack watched the bodies at the base of the cliff. After ten minutes, when they hadn’t moved, he re-sheathed his sword, sniffed and adjusted his gloves. Their deaths were a mere blip, barely raising his heartbeat.
It had taken him years to track and beat that blasted woman, and now he felt only light relief that she was at last dead. And that Navy Captain she was with. A slight frown creased his forehead as he wondered why he’d found them together. He shrugged his shoulders. He had larger fish to fry.
The witch being one of them.
Needing to move, he sent his thought to the men and the filed back into the bush, backtracking their way that would lead them to the witch’s hut. So, she’d hidden here, in this land when he’d told her specifically not to go. Logical, but not the safe haven he’d told her to find.
Couldn’t she see that he’d taken the time to suggest somewhere safe she could live out the rest of her days? He’d even located a small house on the edge of her hometown village. Not that anyone would recognize her, but he’d thought familiar surrounds and all … He thought he’d owned her that for her sacrifice. But there was no telling the feeble minds of females.
He turned to face the emotionless faces of the men. The living dead, he called them. Minds gone, bodies puppets for him to control. This was the power he’d become accustomed to. No more killing when people didn’t do what he wanted. All he had to do was direct them with his thoughts, and they would do the killing for him.
What a laugh it was when they did. To see such men who had stood their high moral grounds, who once had faced him and ordered him to the gallows, now standing piteously before him, waiting for his command. Like that Major Stonebridge for one.
He’d been one to look out for. That night when Jack had met him by the docks when he was still in his right mind, in the middle of winter with the mists of the ocean rolling in, telling him, Jack, to deliver the information about his source, his master. There had been no one with him, so he’d taken control of his mind easily enough and they’d calmly walked away. No one had seen them and he’d made sure gossip spread after his disappearance. How people were so ready to believe lies, especially if those lies kicked up some imaginative dirt.
Jack paused, looking at the woman’s body at the base of the cliff. There was something familiar about that cascade of red hair. But it wasn’t from his memories. Someone else’s. He sorted through the men’s memories, sifting through each mind he’d locked away in the dark void. Apart from a skinny child he couldn’t imagine looking like the woman he’d wanted dead, there was a wife with red hair holding onto children with various red heads and an old woman who liked to wear the red hair of her youth in a wig. He huffed, stuffing the memories back and locking them away. Now he felt dirty, like he’d just shoveled through pig manure. Filthy men and their equally filthy memories.
That was the only thing he didn’t like about obtaining their minds. It was the odd thought, or a wisp of a memory that wasn’t his that somehow floated to the forefront of his mind. That was what made him know without doubt that his mind wasn’t totally his to own anymore. That was the deal he’d cut. The gods would give with persuasion, but there was always a consequence. They sought universal balance. Where one took, an opposite had to be given. It was the way it was.
Best not to dwell. There were more important things to get done. Lilura for one. She had to be here on the land somewhere, meddling with forces she had no right to meddle with. How much did she know? He shuddered to think she knew the deep secrets of these island. But what if she did? He couldn’t leave that loose end. Lilura would have to die now. It was something he should have done all those years ago.
“No.” The voice was strong in his mind and made him stop in his tracks. He knew that commanding tone, and knew there was nothing he could do but stop and communicate. It was the one voice he dreaded. To ignore it though, would be much worse.
“The witch must die,” he thought.
“There are more important ties.”
“The witch is close. I can feel her. She must be dealt with. She has helped the man and the woman.”
“Still, there are ties that lead to the red headed woman’s friends. They are a threat that must be broken.”
Jack quelled his anger. It would be no good to have the ancient voice know he’d been angered. Its force was too great to disobey. “The red headed woman is dead.”
“She lives. You must stop her from going to the land she calls her home. The land belongs to me. Protect my home and you will protect me. Without me, you cannot hope to fulfill your dreams.”
Jack drew a deep breath, staring at nothing in particular. He didn’t like to be made a fool of. “Where is she?” he said.
“The ships. You need to be fast.”
Cursing, Jack retraced his steps, silently ordering the men to follow and took the path that led back to the shore and his ships. How could she have lived through that fall? She would die for her transgressions. She would die from making him look like a fool. This time, he would make sure she died with a sword straight through her heart.
Chapter Fifteen
“Estelle!”
She surfaced through black layers to a world that exploded with pain. With the pain came the need for survival. Her body still pumped adrenaline through her veins and she sat, looking around her with a gasp. She was at the base of the cliff, her body sprawled over the rocks and sand. Gregory sat next to her, struggling to his feet.
His skin was marred with a myriad of bruises and bleeding scratches. There was a wild look in his eyes, a brightness that proclaimed determination against odds. She drew from it, his strength becoming hers. “Estelle, we have to leave.”
He reached to her, offering his hand. She gratefully took it, thankful for his strength as he helped her to her feet. She took a moment to balance, her body screaming against the pain of a multitude of punishment.
“How did he … ?”
Gregory shook his head. “I don’t know, but if don’t leave now, he’ll come after us again.” He indicated the ships. “We have no option.”
Estelle nodded, fighting to ignore the torment of her body. She looked to the ships darkening the blue of the bay. She knew which ship she was going to take. The same ship she had tried to last out of the water on many occasions. The ship where she had rescued so many souls. The Bloody Blade — the ship of Jack Cutlass.
A smile touched her mouth. Cutlass would be furious when he saw that his beloved ship was missing. Anticipation clipped her heels and made her heart race with adrenaline. She turned and glanced at the cliff-line, checking again for black-clad figures. There was nothing but the morning sun in the sky outlining the ridge line.
She was grateful Gregory was a strong a swimmer as she. He matched her stroke f
or stroke, powering through the waves. Her sword pulled her down, but she refused to let the weight slow her down.
Now was not the time to stop and catch her breath. She would do that when her feet were safely on the shores of Paradise. She reached the anchor chain, breathing heavily. She waited as Gregory took hold. “Can you climb?”
She refused to acknowledge him as he swiped his wet raven hair from his eyes. It was a little longer than current fashion, and it slid down the back of his neck in thick waves. Her heart pounded with something more than physical exertion.
He lifted a sleek black brow. “I spent most of my time in the crow’s nest. Of course I can climb.”
His long fingers wrapped around the heavy chain and he pulled himself from the water with ease. His water clogged shirt clung to his skin. His biceps bulged beneath wet sleeves as his arms took his weight. As he moved, his skin rippled with the changing interplay of muscle. He was hip high out of the water. A massive taut thigh rose from the water, finding purchase on the chain. Then his body was free.
He looked down at her, black eyes as bright as the surface of the water. He reached down, offering his hand. Long fingers stretched towards her, the calloused skin of his palms evident of his time at sea. These were not the hands of a man who sat behind a desk. These were the hands of a man who knew how to use them. She gulped, her body reliving the way they branded her skin.
“A man offers a lady help,” he said.
She looked back at his face, recalling their conversation of last night. “I am a Captain and I need no help,” she said, reaching for the chain at his feet and hauling herself from the water.
She climbed after him, struggling against the abuse of tumbling down the cliff, finding purchase in the loops, ignoring the weight of wet clothes and forgetting exhaustion. Before long they had reached the decks and fell to the boards, letting lungs and body recover. Finally her breathing returned to something more normal and she was able to take in the surrounding deck.
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